Innocent
by amyrashelle
Summary: An American is dead and James is the number one suspect - again. He needs to find out who did it and clear his name and stay out of prison or else his 00-status will be revoked. Post QoS.
1. Chapter 1

The debriefing rooms at Langley reminded Felix of his high school's detention room. The bland crème colored walls and the stiff gray chairs made for the most uncomfortable place that required focus and concentration from its occupants. It also made for a very sleepy atmosphere. Felix immediately needed a nap as soon as he sat down in the first chair.

Jack Lord was already sitting at the table with a folder at Felix's end. Jack had been his handler since 1997. Ever since the blow up in Bolivia with the South American section chief, Lord had taken it upon himself to be the sole communiqué between Felix and Langley. There were few agents that could be fully trusted. Lord wasn't about to lose his best to another fool.

He waited until Felix opened the file before beginning his debriefing. "Henry Larson was murdered this morning. He's aide-de-camp to Orson Wallace, our ambassador to Britain."

Felix didn't look impressed or interested. "What happened? Did he try to buy coke? Nail the Queen? Or one of the princesses?"

Lord narrowed his eyes slightly. "No. For all intents and purposes, this was an attack on an American because of his connection to the ambassador." He watched Felix closely, waiting for any tell tale sign. "But we do know who did it."

Now Felix looked uninterested. "That's great. Why are we here then?"

"The killer is an old friend of yours," he said calmly. "James Bond."

He had Felix's interest now. He looked through the file with more attention. "Why do you think it is James? He's not a killer."

"The man threw a British secret service agent off a roof six months ago," Lord shot back. "The gun was his, the bullet had his thumbprint on it, and there was a strand of his hair found at the crime scene." He sat back in his chair, the look in his eyes daring Felix to argue the validity of DNA. "Your man did it."

There was some part of Felix that believed James capable of this. After all, he had a license to kill and he did the bidding of MI6 without prejudice or judgment. The few times Felix has encountered James gave him a sense of cold talent, great charisma, and quiet strength. A man who was willing to do anything if he deemed the action necessary.

"He didn't do it," Felix said simply. "What's the motivation for an MI6 agent to kill one of our ambassadors?"

Lord shrugged. "Bond is a loose cannon and don't you dare argue with that statement." Felix knew he couldn't. "He's killed before, against the orders of M. He's capable and he's guilty."

Felix glanced through Bond's biography. He'd never really had a chance to sit down and exam what they had on Bond. It wasn't much. "Bond's an orphan. The only full time job he's ever held down is at MI6. It doesn't fit the profile." Felix closed the folder and tossed it aside.

Shaking his head, Lord picked up the file. "Felix, I don't really know much about your background with Bond and, quite frankly, I don't give a shit. You are the only agent who has _had _prolonged exposure to him, so you are assigned this case. M is bringing him in for questioning and detainment. Your job is to get the answers we need and to make sure this closes smoothly. We can't stand to let a foreign spy kill one of our politicians. If M can't take care of one of her own traitors then you need to do it for her."

Felix stared back at him with a narrow expression. He was not looking forward to this. Bond was trouble enough when they were on the same side. And there was that little inconvenience of his conscience riding against him. "Sounds like fun."

Lord stood up. "Get to London. M will be expecting you."

****

She didn't believe it. Oh, he could do it and she had seen him do it before to others. He wasn't a murderer, though. James was too devoted to his career to kill on a whim. Despite the many ways Britain and America had tried to make him out to be a traitor, M knew much better than they did. He was a man of resolve with nothing to lose in giving his soul to the job.

She walked through his place with brief glances, but nothing stood out. His apartment didn't boast much individuality. The place was furnished in a tasteful, but distant style. He obviously didn't spend much time in it. There were very few personal items. A couple of pictures from college and some after recruitment were sitting on bookshelves and tables here and there. There were none before the age of nineteen. She couldn't very well blame him for that. Life in an orphanage wasn't something one mounted on the wall proudly. James had certainly never spoken of it.

M made her way into his bedroom. It was the only place she found more touches of James himself. His credentials were resting on a desk against the window and a pair of ivory cufflinks beside it. She picked up the cufflinks and smiled softly. They were beautiful. James always carried himself so well. How could she not put some sense of self worth into him then? He needed more than this job. Maybe then these house calls wouldn't be required.

She set the cufflinks down and continued to look around. The rest of the room was carefully arranged and cleaned, but she froze when she caught sight of a torn picture of Vesper. The front door opened, but didn't turn around. That picture had gone missing from the file months ago. M picked it up. It was well cared for except for the scarred end. He loved it as he had loved the woman. It tore at M in a way no other agent had been able to touch her. The girl hadn't needed to die. James needed her.

James walked into his bedroom and stared at the intruder with nothing more than brief curiosity. "Are we holding meetings in my apartment now?" he asked curiously. "I wouldn't let the prime minister know. He might get jealous." He pulled his outer coat off and tossed it over the side of the chair as he walked further in. "And this is a very bad room to do the discussing in, ma'am."

There was the tone she knew and hated. M turned to face him, setting the picture back down on the bed stand. James glanced once at it and his face stiffened in anger from the intrusion of privacy. "Smug pride will never get you anywhere, James," she said simply. "And as it turns out, it might land you in the hot seat yet again. You're coming with me."

"For what? Polygraph?"

He was smart enough to know this wasn't a new mission. She had been right not to underestimate his skills. Her face remained stoic. "Possibly," she said. "The American ambassador's personal aide has been murdered. The CIA is claiming you did it."

He raised an eyebrow. In all honesty, he was surprised at the claim. The CIA had tried to bring him down before and their attempts had failed. This seemed a rather feeble attempt. "And what would be my motivation for killing that man?"

"I haven't the slightest clue," she said calmly. "Hence my bringing you in for questioning."

He smiled a little coldly. "You don't do anything without knowing the outcome."

"Not true," she said curtly. "Or else you would never have been promoted."

He canted his head to the side and smiled humorlessly. "Everyone has their lapses in judgment." He took the picture from her hand and put it in his pocket with one swift motion. "I didn't kill anyone, M."

"I don't know that." She picked up his coat and handed it to him. "Come with me now. We will get this sorted out in the office."

James took it and put it on, but he didn't move. "Whatever evidence they have is a lie."

"I don't know that either."

"Yes you do," he challenged. "Or you wouldn't have come yourself. You would have sent agents to pick me up."

M let herself smile coldly. "Believe it or not, Bond, I've come to realize that there are some things I do better than you."

He smiled knowingly. She wasn't director of MI6 for no reason. There was always a card up her sleeve and usually that card was Bond himself. "Yes, ma'am. I know. Should I pack?"

"No."

The front door opened and two agents appeared. James looked down at M. "So you do believe them," he said softly.

"I don't know what to believe." She reached up with a small needle to his neck swiftly. James felt it, but his reflexes were immediately sobered and he dropped to the floor. He was still somewhat conscious at the agents walked over and picked him up. M capped the needle and took the picture of Vesper out of James' pocket. The woman smiling back at her was beautiful, charming, and mysterious. James' type.

If only she had lived.

****


	2. Chapter 2

"No, no, don't tell me. He has two left feet, tripped and fell, the gun went off in his pants, shot down his leg, and just accidentally managed to strike Mr. Ambassador's Aide in the forehead." The prime minister glared up at her as he sat down behind his giant oak desk. There might have been some ego behind his choosing it – she was fairly certain the Resolute Desk in the White House was smaller.

M took a deep breath. "That is possible, sir, however very unlikely. 007 doesn't like to keep guns in his pants."

"All evidence to the contrary." He ran a hand across the top of his head in frustration. It had been a long day and it was proving to be even longer. "What are you suggesting, then? The poor bloke deserved to die?"

"Well, he is an American politician…sir." She raised an eyebrow. "But I think a more likely explanation is that Bond didn't do it."

The PM rolled his head back, rather looking like a peeved teenager for a brief moment. "The Americans have his bloody hair! What makes you think he's telling the truth?"

"We've interrogated him for ten hours, sir, and his story has never changed." She folded her hands in her lab to keep them steady.

"Of course not, _we trained them to do that_! I don't trust him and neither should you. He might be your golden apple, but right now he's an enemy of the state. MI5 wants their hands on him, the CIA got my private line and won't stop calling now, and I have reporters asking stupid questions to all of my secretaries." Leaning forward on his chair, he narrowed his eyes. "In other words, I am having a very bad day. So fix this now!"

For a brief moment M wondered what her career prospects would be if she ordered Bond to shave the prime minister's remaining hairs off. The thought was attractive and she quickly pushed it from her mind before further planning could be considered. "Yes, sir." She got to her feet and headed for the door.

He stared at her back and pulled a Mont Blanc pen out of its cap as an afterthought. It gave his hand something to do other than make fists. "Oh, and M? After this is over, sack him."

* * *

In truth James had never been in one of their interrogation rooms before. He had witnessed an interrogation during training, but that had been in a classroom setting while they watched a television pointed into the room. He had great respect for anyone who could get the truth in a controlled environment where the odds were in the witness' favor. That respect did not stretch out across all interrogators. It took cunning and skill. The interrogator he had once watched had encompassed all of those traits.

Agent Curtis did not. He sat behind the desk with large spectacles and an oddly pointed nose as he read through a manila file folder before him. James was on the opposite side in medical patient clothes with a bandage over his arm. Another blasted tracking device.

Curtis asked the most random questions. What was James' favorite ice cream? How many cars had he destroyed during his tenure at MI6 thus far? What suit designer did he prefer? When was the last time he had engaged in sexual relations? What was the name of the Prime Minister's wife?

James answered them all with little emotional fluctuation in his voice. He even got the wife's name right, but for reasons he would not disclose. Curtis frowned in disappointment when Bond showed no change in mood. Could the man's composition not be agitated at all? He quickly switched gears and began asking direct questions.

"Why did you kill the American?"

"I didn't."

"Your hair was found on the body."

"It was planted."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Where were you at the time of the murder?"

"I was home alone."

"Can anyone verify that?"

"I wouldn't be here if that were possible, now would I?"

Curtis frowned again. "You are in a very delicate situation. If you cannot account for your whereabouts then MI6 may very well be forced to have you over. It would serve your purposes better if you just told me the truth."

The corner of James' eyes flickered briefly. "Have you perceived some indication that I am being dishonest?"

"You are trained to lie well," he pointed out.

"And kill," he added shortly. "I assure you, if I had killed this American you would not have found a hair."

"The evidence points to you." Curtis shut the folder and glared back at him. "It would behoove you to face the consequences."

He shook his head. "You mean take the blame and make it easier on MI6."

The door opened and M stepped inside. "Something like that," she said. With a jerk of her head, she stepped further into the room to clear the doorway. "Curtis, please excuse us." He got up with the file in hand and a short "mum" in her direction before shutting the door behind him.

James looked up at her with disinterest. "I've always wondered what it would be like to be your prisoner."

"You're not a prisoner in the official capacity." She sat down in Curtis' chair and stared back at him hard. "You're nothing. You're a detainee. No rights. No phone call. I won't even give you a mirror."

"All this over a politician?" He raised an eyebrow. "I didn't do it. I was at home."

"There is no way to verify that. The security monitors in your apartment were disconnected."

He smiled as he leaned forward on the table. "I know. I disconnected them six months ago. I don't mind giving my life to this job, but it will be on my terms."

She narrowed her eyes. "Because of that you have no alibi and you're being interrogated by the most annoying man I could find in the whole organization."

"Ten hours of my questioning my life," he said dryly. "Hardly an acceptable form of torture, but I assume you've never spoken extensively with him."

"Of course not. I could have made it worse. I could have given him your real personnel file."

His face darkened slightly at the threat, but he kept his cool. M was the only person with access to the complete personnel file of Double-Oh agents. This was a security precaution for the agent as well as MI6. Given the backgrounds of some of the men, it was best that interdepartmental cooperation didn't exceed the "official" file. James knew his wasn't compromising in any legal sense, but it was personal. It was private.

"Someone is setting me up," he said. "Let me go so I can find out who it is."

"I can't," she admitted. "The prime minister himself has insisted on your incarceration and expulsion immediately following this investigation." Pursing her lips, she leaned back in the chair. "There is nothing I can do, James. This is your doing."

He was silent for a few moments. It was no secret that he was hated by the powers that be, but M had always found a way to protect him and he had always come through in the end. Now he was locked up and she was under orders. No one would fight for him. His hand closed into a fist. Loneliness had suited him because the pain associated with disappointment had been too great. There was no such thing as trust and friendship and love. All he could rely on was himself.

"Tomorrow you will be transferred to the detention center," she started again. "Until then you will remain in medical."

Medical? He looked back at her curiously. They had a temporary detention center in the building. There was no need to keep him in medical. It was less secure, in fact.

"Yes, ma'am," he said softly.

"I expect you to be ready with the truth when the time comes."

He smiled a little. "Yes, ma'am."

M slowly got to her feet, but her eyes stayed on him. "Don't disappoint me," she murmured.

He wouldn't dream of it.  


* * *

The piercing security alarm rang deep inside Felix's head. It was mo wonder there were so many crazies in Britain. The wailing was enough to drive anyone to crime. As he walked down the hall he grabbed someone who looked like a paper pusher and shoved him against the wall to stop him.

"What the hell is going on?" he shouted over the alarm. "What is that sound?"

"Security breach!" the man shouted back. "Top floor, priority clearance."

He let got of the man and ran to the stairwell. The alarms were killed and he took a moment to breathe a sigh of relief before continuing. There were officers on every floor, but he flashed his credentials and ran up three flights until he came to M's floor. There were even more guards, but as he made his way down the hall M appeared out of her office. She paused in step at the sight of Felix. He certainly hadn't been expecting hugs and kisses, but even she looked offended at his presence. CIA loved to be hated.

"Mr. Leiter," she said as she approached. "I assured your superiors that I did not need you here."

"I assured them too," he said, pocketing his hands. "But they assured me I was under orders. What is going on?"

Her hands folded in front of her. "Bond has escaped."

The corner of his mouth tugged upwards. "Did he now. How?"

"He somehow managed to hide a scalpel in his bed and cut his way out of the restraints we put him in."

"I see." He couldn't tell if she was lying. He liked that about her. "A scalpel in his bed, huh?"

"Yes," she said calmly. "Quite ingenious of him."

He chuckled softly. "James certainly has a unique style. But perhaps we could continue in private, ma'am? I'll need everything you have on him and the murder."

"Follow me." She turned around and led him towards her office. Felix couldn't help smiling. His own mother wasn't that loyal to him, but James picked his women well.


	3. Chapter 3

The knife was dull, but it was all he could find to do the job. He should have kept the scalpel, but the metal detectors were enough of a problem to prompt him leaving it behind. It took another sharp dig before the tiny metal rod popped out. "Thanks, M," he muttered as he wrapped his arm back up. He stepped out of the alley and calmly slipped the tracking device into a passing jacket pocket. The owner of the jacket glanced distastefully over James' attire, but continued on oblivious to what had just happened. James smiled a little at the look. His clothes had been stolen from a local thrift store, so he stuck out slightly among the business suits. Certainly not his style, but when one was on the run one had to make sacrifices. When this was all over he'd buy a suit and have an expensive dinner on the company.

He had very little recourse. Assets were most likely frozen, which mean his passports were being watch and his credit cards were gone. Frequent security checks at the airports and train stations, cabby check ins. M might have hid the scalpel for him to find, but the rest was his responsibility and she wouldn't make it easy. By now a capture or kill order had been issued on his head. She would have had to.

Yes, his options were few. In fact, there was only one place he knew he could go.

The walk downtown took him two hours. Avoiding traffic cameras and the Underground left an unusual foot route that took him on rooftops and through alley ways. When he reached the apartment building he walked in behind a couple who had unlocked the door. There took the elevator and he took the stairs. Of course, she had to live on the sixteenth floor. Normally in excellent shape, the past two days had left him sedated, exhausted, and hungry. No food had been given to him. He was puffing by the time he reached the correct floor.

Her apartment door was still sealed with police tape, but there was no guard. It had been weeks since his time in Montenegro and Brazil, but Quantum remained an organization of which they had limited information, even after Dominic Greene's confession. Vesper was the only other person whom they knew with direct contact to the group. Therefore her apartment remained sealed.

James pulled down the tape and tested the door knob. It was unlocked. He cautiously walked in and glanced around the immediately vicinity before continuing in. It was a spacious flat with a large kitchen and a dining area to the right of it. Pristine white carpet and tasteful furniture filled the rooms. It seemed almost too perfect, but he had no doubt it was Vesper's doing. The fear of being marginalized was something they had shared.

He froze as he stepped into the kitchen. He wasn't alone.

"I'm surprised at you." Felix lifted the glass to his mouth and sipped the red wine. He was sitting at the dining table with the bottle beside him. "I thought you would have found somewhere less obvious."

James gazed coolly at him. "I didn't take you for a wine connoisseur."

His eyebrow arched in amusement. "I didn't take you for a sentimentalist."

The British tone hardened. " How did you know?"

"M gave me your file. I took a gamble." Felix stood up and walked towards him. "My boss wants you bad."

"I seem to be popular these days." He took the glass from Felix's hand and drank deeply from it.

"I didn't do it," he added as an afterthought.

"You'll never find them on your own. You'll be hard pressed to get out of this city as it is. M sent 002 and 009 after you."

"She has to keep up appearances, but I'm rather insulted. 002 is a drunk." He drank some more. Nothing had ever tasted quite so good.

Felix frowned unhappily and quickly pulled the glass back from James' grip. "You're butchering the wine. Here." He shoved a few hundred pounds into James' hand. "Get some food and some sleep. You look terrible."

"You've never been interrogated by Meyer Curtis." He slipped the money into his pocket and nodded his head in thanks. "I need to find who did this. What can you tell me about them?"

"Henry Larson and Orson Wallace?" He sat down on the crouch and shrugged. "Larson is very good at his job. He keeps Wallace clean. Keeps the press from harassing him. Keeps the wrong sound bites from reaching the evening news."

"So Wallace is a problem?"

"Not as much as you might think, but he's still a politician."

James frowned. "Then what's the angle?"

"There is none," Felix insisted. "Larson is a family man. No affairs. Clean work history. One stint in prison for possession of marijuana when he was nineteen. No recent death threats against the ambassador. No reason at all to kill the man."

"Whoever did this set me up personally for the fall. Why?"

Felix shook his head. "You've pissed a lot of people off. Revenge?"

James shook his head. "If they wanted revenge they would just come after me directly with a knife or gun. This is too risky. There is too much of a chance I'll get out of it. I can clear myself." He took a deep breath to calm his irritation. He didn't like it when events had no rationale. Even in a world as bizarre as his there was some rationale, whether it be power, glory, or revenge.

The silence bugged Felix. With a final swallow of the wine, he corked the bottle and walked back to the cabinet. "I'll do what I can, but you should be ready for the inevitable. There are no witnesses, no alibis, and no proof you are being set up. In all sense of the word, you are fucked. I'd get some papers together and find a nice villa in a non-extradition treaty country."

James pursed his lips tightly in thought. His life was based on a job he gave everything for. The mere thought of giving it all up for beaches and hula girls and small coconut drinks was so repulsive he began to wish he had killed someone. It was easier to escape the truth than prove it. "That's not an option," he told Felix. "I won't run."

"Yeah, well, big surprise there." He headed. "Get some rest and take a shower. I have to get back to headquarters. M has her own villains to fend off and I work for one of them."

"Keep an eye on her," James said softly. He caught Felix's eye and held it. "She needs protection. She's vulnerable." After the assassination attempt in Italy he had been especially cautious about her surroundings. The woman was seemingly fearless, a trait James strongly admired and detested. One day it would get her killed.

"I will," Felix promised as he walked out. He would keep that promise to James no matter what.

* * *

MI6 was quiet on the top floor. Most of M's agent had retired for the evening, but she was still in her office reading over the reports. There would be no getting around the evidence unless it could be proven falsified. The powers that be were clearly not accepting this alternative. It was prison or death for 007, options she refused to accept.

The secretary walked into the room with a soft knock on the open door. "Mum, I'm leaving. Shall I call Mr. Tanner to look over you?"

M waived her hand dismissively. "No, Penny, you may leave. Have a good night."

She smiled. "Of course, mum. This just came for you. Priority mail from the Defense Secretary's office." She set the document envelope down on her desk before closing the door on her way out. M stared long and hard at the packet with an expression of mixed irritation and dread. Anything from the Defense Ministry brought a whirlwind of chaos she would rather avoid at this time. There was too much at stake for some silly training exercise set up in the middle of bloody Africa again.

With a sigh she grabbed it and popped open the sealed tab. She poured the contents out on her desk. The first paper on top was a folded note in small type print.

_You made a mistake. Now he will die._

Beneath the note were several black and white pictures taken from a rooftop looking into an apartment. She did not recognize the location or the sudden tightness of breath that overtook her as she looked at them, but she did recognized the shirtless man asleep on the couch. Each shot was a slightly better angle and focus until his peaceful face was front and center on the last picture. She had never before seen him sleep. It surprised her that he could look so peaceful after such a terrible day.

It was Bond.


End file.
